


Got milk?

by Lonaargh



Series: Sterek [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, Cat, Cute, Fluffy, Kinda, M/M, literal fluff, stupid, there's a cat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-28
Updated: 2016-07-28
Packaged: 2018-07-27 07:43:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7609612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lonaargh/pseuds/Lonaargh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One day Derek encounters a visitor in his house. At first the relationship is strained, at best. But in time they learn to love each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Got milk?

**Author's Note:**

> So much love and hugs and thanks for my beta, [ Stilienski ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stilienski/pseuds/Stilienski)  
> Love you!

Derek stared at the furry intruder sitting on the counter in his kitchen. He raised an eyebrow as it aggressively ignored him and started washing its balls. Right there. In front of him. On his counter. The place where he made food. 

“Ksssht. Go away!” he said, waving his hand at the trespassing cat. The cat didn’t seem impressed by Derek’s half hearted attempts to chase him away. He did stop licking his own private parts and returned Derek’s stare, one of his hind legs still sticking up in the air. The stare he gave Derek was one of disdain, combined with an utter lack of interest or respect. As cats are wont to do. 

Derek’s impressive eyebrows furrowed. Well. This was rich. This creature came into _his_ house, sat on _his_ counter, and dared to ignore him? That wouldn’t do. And besides, this cat was black. Didn’t black cats bring bad luck? He reached towards the cat, trying to grab it by the scruff of its neck, but he quickly darted back when the cat growled at him. He wasn’t very familiar with the feline race (the only pet he had as a kid was a goldfish), but he was pretty sure no living creature should be allowed to make that sound and still look so fluffy. Weren’t cats supposed to meow and purr and all that? Why the hell did this one _growl?_

He abandoned his plan of physically throwing the cat out of his home when he took a better look at the claws the cat was now nonchalantly showing off. Yeah, no. There was no way he was going to come close to those razor blades.

 That meant there was only one thing left to do. Not taking his eyes off the cat, he carefully reached behind him and grabbed the spray bottle he used to water his plants.

It was as if the cat could read his mind. The moment his fingertips grazed the bottle, the ears of the cat perked up and it stopped grooming itself. The cat glanced at Derek, who was now slowly curling his fingers around the bottle, got up and gracefully stretched all his limbs. It yawned lazily, showing off tiny but sharp teeth, before jumping on the ground and strolling to the doors leading to the garden. It gave Derek one last haughty look and then slipped out into the garden, with a flick of his tail.

Derek quickly paced to the doors and shut them with an audible _clack_. That was that. The cat was gone, he could now scrub and sterilize his kitchen counter, getting rid of the traces of cat butt before he made his dinner.

 ~~ 

Derek woke up with a start. It was late and the living room was pitch black except for the glare of the television. The television was showing a young lady who wasn’t wearing as much as she should and who wasn’t as pretty as she thought she was, trying to persuade whoever was watching to call her so she could have a ‘hot and steamy’ conversation with them. The ‘hot and steamy’ were her words, not his. He sighed and rubbed his face. He must’ve fallen asleep on the sofa while watching the movie. He stopped moving and frowned. There was a weird, warm weight on his chest. What on earth was this? With a slight tap he flicked the table lamp next to the sofa on. 

There, sound asleep on his chest, vibrating slightly with each breath, was the cat. It looked strangely peaceful like that. Of course, Derek was going to throw it off of him and chase it out. Eventually. But it obviously really needed the sleep if it was willing to sleep on top of Derek of all people. It’s not that it felt very comforting to have a cat sleeping on him, Of course not. Derek snorted silently at his own train of thought. He didn’t like cats and cats didn’t like him. Especially not spoiled, snotty cats like this one. He would wake it up in five minutes. Once he was more awake himself.

Fifteen minutes later he gingerly reached out for the cat, holding his breath when he softly grazed its fur. The vibrating intensified, but otherwise the cat didn’t respond to this touch at all. Encouraged by this, Derek carefully started petting the cat. How was it possible, he mused, that a creature so soft and so warm, could growl so menacingly like it did before?  
Ten more minutes, then he would wake it up and go to bed. 

The next time Derek opened his eyes it was around 8 AM. He had fallen asleep again, with the cat still lying on top of him. But now the cat was nowhere to be seen, the only evidence of it ever having been there the hairs it had left on Derek’s shirt. 

That afternoon Derek bought several cans of catfood at the supermarket. You know. Just in case. 

~~

One morning, almost a week after the sleeping incident, Derek stepped out on his porch in his bathrobe. A cup of piping hot coffee in his left hand, and a croissant with cheese in the other. Life was good. At least, it was good until he stepped into something gross and squishy with his bare foot. Disgusted, he took a quick step back to examine the offending matter. He was even more disgusted when he saw it was a dead frog. 

A few feet away the cat was sitting smugly on the little coffeetable, its tail flicking back and forth. Derek was about to shout at the animal, but something about the way the cat stared at him threw him off. It looked as if it wanted to say ‘You poor bastard, you can’t even catch your own food. Here. I brought this to you so you don’t starve. Aren’t I great?’

Cats can convey a lot of information in a single stare. 

“I... you… How…” Derek gave up, “Thank you.” The cat blinked at him one last time before turning around and sauntering away again. Derek was left behind with a squished frog, frog juice between his toes, and a conflicted feeling between disgust and something akin to gratitude. 

~~

Two months later the cat was a regular visitor in Derek’s house. He had his own entrance, (Derek had bought the cat door a few weeks ago after he had gotten sick and tired of the cat’s constant yammering in front of the door in the middle of the night), a little basket, his own feeding and water bowl, and even a scratching post.

He considered it _his_ cat. Even if it technically wasn’t.

Right now he was sitting on the sofa, cat purring in his lap as he absentmindedly petted it.

When the doorbell rang both he and the cat looked up with a look of deep annoyance. Who could be at the door on a Sunday? With some effort Derek managed to dislodge the cat from its cozy spot, and he opened the door. 

Standing on his front porch, nervously fiddling with his hands, stood a young man. Before he could even open his mouth, Derek knew what he was here for. The cat. Of course the cat had an owner. But Derek had gotten used to the little bugger and now the thought of him never seeing the animal again made him feel… well, he wasn’t sure what he was feeling, but it sure as hell wasn’t ‘happy’. 

“Hi! My name is Stiles.” A long slender hand was extended and Derek found himself staring at the long fingers for a second before his brain nudged him into action. Derek awkwardly shook the hand and introduced himself. 

“Derek Hale,” he muttered, trying to will the knot in his stomach away. 

Stiles flashed a small smile, running his fingers through his already tousled brown hair.

“Okay,” he said, “There is no way to say this without it being weird, so here goes.” He took a deep breath.

“I recently found out that my cat has been treating your place like a second home. So first of all, I apologize, and second of all, can I have him back please?"

There it was. Derek briefly closed his eyes. He had known this day would come. He knew. And yet, it still sucked. 

He nodded. “Come in,” he said gruffly, opening the door wider so Stiles could come in. 

Stiles walked ahead of him, and Derek couldn’t help but sneak a glance at Stiles’s shapely behind in those baggy jeans. Not bad. Not bad at all. 

The cat had found a new napping spot on the scratching post. It barely even opened an eye when it heard Stiles come in. 

“Sourpuss! There you are!” 

“Sourpuss?” Derek raised an eyebrow. He had taken to calling the cat “Cat” himself. It was a simple name and actually described the cat well. 

“It seemed funny when he was still a grumpy kitten,” Stiles shrugged, “It’s less funny now that I’m the one screaming ‘Sourpuss’ at night when he has wandered off again. The neighbours have started to look at me funny whenever they see me.” 

“Imagine that.” 

“I know, right?”  
  
Sourpuss didn’t budge from his spot. His ear twitched a bit, the only sign that he did indeed recognize this human. 

“C’mon buddy, time to go,” Stiles reached out for Sourpuss, trying to pick him up from his perch on the scratching post, “We don’t want to bother Mister Hale any longer than we already did.” 

“Oh, he wasn’t-”

Sourpuss wasn’t about to relinquish his spot without a fight. He made himself as limp as possible, while having his nails hooked into the fabric of the scratching post. Stiles tugged gently at the puddle of cat in his hands.

“And I’m sure his own cats will be glad to have their scratching post back.” 

Derek felt his cheeks turn red.  
“I… don’t have any cats.” 

“Well, then-” Stiles stopped trying to unhook his cat from Derek’s property and looked at Derek, surprised, “Wait, what?” He let go of Sourpuss and turned around to properly face Derek. “You don’t have cats? But-” He flailed his arms a bit, “you have all this stuff. Food bowls, water dishes,” he nodded to the most incriminating piece of evidence in the room, “a _scratching post_.” 

“I bought those for Cat,” Derek grumbled, feeling very judged by this strange person. What business of his was it if Derek wanted to buy things for a cat that had been visiting him in his home for weeks now? None of his business, that’s what. So why did Derek feel flustered when he looked at those brown eyes, dreading the mockery he might see in them.

 “You…” A look of comprehension flashed over Stiles’ face, “Ohhh. You actually like Sourpuss, don’t you?” 

“What? This fleabag? No.”

 “Liar.”

 “I’m not.”

 “Do you have sprinklers?”

 “What?”

“Because I think your pants just caught fire.”

“I… okay. Fine. Look. I love the damn cat, alright? But he’s yours, so just… just pick him up and go.” Derek couldn’t look Stiles in the eyes. Those damned pretty eyes.  He wished fervently that the ground would open up and swallow him whole. 

It stayed quiet for a few moments, not even Sourpuss was purring. Possibly being a catpuddle made purring difficult. 

“I think,” Stiles broke the silence, talking slowly, “that I am perfectly willing to share custody of Sourpuss here.” 

What? What was he saying? Derek’s brain couldn’t quite keep up.

“What?” 

“I think that Sourpuss likes it here,” Stiles gestured at the pile of fluff still firmly attached to the scratching pole, “obviously.”

He grinned the biggest grin Derek had ever seen.  
“And you already spent a lot of money on all these things. And who am I to deny my cat such a handsome co-owner?” 

What?  
“What?”

“Let me give you my number,” Stiles started digging around in his pockets and magically produced a piece of paper and a stub of pencil that seemed to come from the IKEA store, “So we can discuss things like visitation rights, feeding schedules, petting duty, all that. You know how it is.” 

“You… you’re willing to let the cat stay?” Derek couldn’t believe what he was hearing. 

“And then, after we discussed all the boring cat stuff, how about we continue our discussion over a cup of coffee and make it a date? Maybe even be mischievous and eat cake with our coffee.”

“You talk a lot, you know that?”

“I’ve been told that I tend to babble once or twice, yes. Here, this is my number. Call me.”

Stiles pressed the paper with his number in Derek’s unresisting hand and hurried towards the front door.  
“I’m just going to leave Sourpuss here and I’ll talk to you later.”  
And with that, he was gone.

Derek was left behind in a state of utter bewilderment. He closed the door and couldn’t help but smile a bit. He looked at the piece of paper in his hand. Stiles’ number was written there, in big, enticing handwriting. The small smile grew into a big grin.

Who said that black cats brought bad luck?


End file.
